


Alan

by Zana



Category: The Song of the Lioness - Tamora Pierce
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-22
Updated: 2013-09-22
Packaged: 2017-12-27 06:56:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/975804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zana/pseuds/Zana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alex and Alan, from the beginning to the bitter end.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Alan

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ambyr](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ambyr/gifts).



The first time Alex kissed Alan, he was sixteen and Alan thirteen.

Alex had been watching the page.  Alan didn’t gawk at the women of the Court the way the other lads did, and more than once Alex had caught him looking longingly at Jonathan when the prince wasn’t paying attention.  Jon had always made clear that he had eyes only for the fairer sex, so Alan was out of luck there.

They were the odd ones out, the two of them, so one day Alex pulled the boy into a darkened alcove and kissed him.

Alan’s lips were soft and tentative against his; likely he had never been kissed before.  Alex was surprised by the fierce possessiveness that washed through him at the thought.  He gathered Alan close in the shadows and slid his tongue into the boy’s mouth.

Alan trembled, and froze at the touch of tongue against tongue.  He wrenched away, violet eyes wide.  “I can’t – ” he stammered.  “I _don’t_ – ”  He turned and fled.

Alex let him go.  He hadn’t been sure when he was thirteen, either.  Alan would be back.

* * *

He kissed Alan again the night after the lad astonished everyone by displaying a proficiency with the sword well beyond his years.  Alan kissed him back this time and didn’t flee.

Alex discovered Alan’s early morning practice time, and joined him whenever he could.  He liked teaching the page new moves; Alan was tenacious until he’d learned them perfectly.  Sometimes he even bested his teacher, forcing Alex to better himself as they practiced together.  Every time Alex managed to disarm Alan, he claimed a kiss.

Just a kiss; Alan was young.  This flirtation was enough for now.  When Alex was a knight and Alan his squire, he’d take the boy to his bed as Roger had taken Alex to his.

He wasn’t sure why Roger disliked Alan so.  Sometimes he flattered himself that it was because the Duke was jealous, but inside he knew better.  Roger could have anybody he wanted; Alex was the best squire so Roger wanted him.  It was hardly _personal_.

Then came the journey to Persepolis, and everything changed.  Alan and Jon took Roger’s dare and did something deranged and miraculous, and the prince claimed Alan as his squire.

Alex didn’t let himself feel the fury of it until a year later when he saw Jon kissing Alan under a stairwell.  Black hate spilled over and Alex had to wear himself out in the practice yards to keep from killing the prince for taking what was his.

“Patience,” Roger said later that night, resting a hand on the small of Alex’s naked back.  Alex felt wrung out and empty, the way he always did after sex with Roger.  “The prince will be dealt with.”

The last flicker of doubt that Alex had been feeling about his loyalty to the Duke was extinguished.  Let Jon teach Alan how to please a lover; Alex would reap the fruits of his labors when the prince was dead.

He and Alan sparred one more time together, but the savage anger overwhelmed the knight and he almost killed his friend.

Alex didn’t challenge the squire again.

* * *

Alex had never felt so betrayed in his life, the day that Alan earned his shield and revealed himself – _herself._   Not only had his Alan lied to him for seven years, but she also took the only person Alex looked up to unreservedly.  Roger lay in state, branded a murderer, and Alanna fled like the coward she was.

Delia threw herself weeping into Alex’s arms when she found that Jon wouldn’t let her throw herself weeping into _his_.  She talked all night, incessant nonsensical plans that she’d discard by morning.  He traced his fingers over her bare skin, marveling at the way she used even the furnishings in her bedchamber to make herself more beautiful.  Delia was a weapon, as finely-honed as any sword – but the one who could wield her was dead.

Of course Alex came under suspicion; he had been Roger’s squire, after all.  But King Roald had always been quick to put unpleasantness away, and even Jonathan would rather not look too closely at his old friend.  Only Myles of Olau kept a wary eye on him, and Alex was able to put him off the scent easily.  After all, Roger was dead; that couldn’t be undone.

* * *

Everyone said it was Delia who taunted Thom into bringing Roger back, but really it was Alex who planted the seed.

Thom, lonely and proud and isolated, was easy to seduce.  It was the seduction Alex had envisioned for Alan, and the only difficult part was remembering to not to use the wrong name for the wrong twin.  Gaining Thom’s trust was impossible, but nobody had ever been _kind_ to the sorcerer before.  _Probably_ , Alex thought dryly, _because he was such a brat._   Alex, used to Delia’s rages, could easily withstand Thom’s, even the magical ones.  Thom was so endearingly contrite in the mornings after he’d lobbed fireballs at Alex.  If Alex were the sort who felt guilt, he might have felt guilty at manipulating the boy so readily.

As to Roger, all it really took was a sandbur to Thom’s pride.  Late one night, tangled in each other’s arms, Alex said something self-deprecating about being the lover of both of the greatest sorcerers in the western lands.  “We’ll not see Roger’s like again,” he said sadly.  “No one’s mad enough to try the things he did.”

Of course Thom demanded details, and after suitable reluctance Alex whispered about the night Roger had brought a man back from the arms of the Black God.

He didn’t see Thom for three days after that, and he didn’t seek him out.  The sorcerer appeared in his chamber on the fourth night – Alex hated it when he faded in and out like that, briefly incorporeal – and said abruptly, “Can’t be done.  It would take more power than any sorcerer holds.”

Alex shrugged.  “Perhaps,” he said.

Thom scowled at him.  “Your precious lover tricked you,” he spat.  “He must have healed a grievously wounded man; that’s simple enough.”

“A corpse cold six hours?” Alex asked, but brushed the subject aside as if it were academic.  “Come to bed.  As I said, we won’t see Roger’s like again.”

Thom faded just as suddenly as he’d come, and Alex knew he was hooked.

* * *

Alex should not, perhaps, have been surprised when Roger tried to seduce Thom.  He was, though, and even further surprised to feel a familiar possessive fury sweep through him.  He didn’t even _like_ Thom.  Thom was a means to an end, that was all.  If only Thom didn’t look so cursed much like Alan…

There _was_ no Alan, he reminded himself for the thousandth time.  Thom at least had never lied.

Thom surprised everyone, though, by refusing Roger’s bed.  He didn’t refuse the Duke’s tutelage in magic, of course – Thom spend more time with Roger than he would have with a lover – but when Alex asked he scowled at him and said something snotty about honor and prior commitments.  It was a reference to Delia; they’d played on Thom’s jealousy that she still shared Alex’s bed on occasion.  But the hurt behind the words gave Alex pause.  It had never occurred to him that Thom’s feelings might go deeper than jealousy.

Roger shrugged philosophically over the matter.  “I tried to kill his sister; I was never going to gain his trust.”  His dark blue eyes swept over Alex speculatively.  “ _You_ might, though.”

Alex didn’t want Thom’s trust.  He didn’t even want Thom, particularly, because the better he got to know the young sorcerer, the more he realized again and again how different Thom was from Alan – from Alanna.

Thom knew it, too.  One evening, Thom slammed into his chambers after a meeting with Roger.  He was in a high temper; no doubt Roger had set him a superhuman task and Thom hadn’t been able to bend the rules of magic enough to accomplish it yet.  Alex knew it made things worse to roll his eyes at Thom’s tantrums, but he couldn’t help it.

Thom flung a letter in his face in retaliation.  “She’s sleeping with the Shang Dragon now,” he sneered.  “She’s gone to the Roof of the World to retrieve the Dominion Jewel.”

Alex schooled his face to blandness.  “Who?” he asked, but his voice shook just a little, giving him away.  He picked up the letter.  It was from Alanna.

“You’re in love with her, just like every other idiot around here,” Thom snarled.  His eyes had begun to glow a blood-red color, Alex’s signal to back off before serious magic got involved.  A terrible smile spread across the sorcerer’s face.  The sickly eyes gleamed.  “Only you’re not, are you?” he purred.  “You’re not in love with Alanna.  You’re still in love with _Alan._ ”  He spat the name like a curse.

“Thom…”  Alex knew it was useless; had always known it was useless to stand against sorcerers.

“You won’t get her!” Thom cried.  Alex wasn’t sure the sorcerer even noticed that he was hovering half a foot off the floor in his rage.  “You can’t have her!  Jon will have her, or someone of her choosing.  I will _never_ let Roger have the throne and I’ll never let you have her!”

It was useless to protest.  Twin whips of magic crackled in the air around Alex, and he was pulled toward Thom.

They fucked fast and rough, fury sparkling in the air around them.  Thom snarled and bit when Alex forgot and used Alan’s name.  But he didn’t stop, so Alex couldn’t bring himself to care.

Thom never liked Alex to stay after their more violent encounters, so after he’d recovered his breath the knight rolled out of bed and began gathering his clothes.  Usually Thom could be counted upon to mutter the spells that would knit torn clothing back together, and when Alex heard nothing he turned back to look.  Thom dashed away the tears on his cheeks.

Alex had seen him rage; had seen him in the heights of ecstasy and the depths of despair.  He had never seen Thom cry before.

The sorcerer waved a hand at Alex’s clothes, turning his face away.  Instead of knitting the cloth back together, the torn edges started smoldering and burst into flame.  Within seconds, the garment was gone.

With an impatient sob, Thom gestured instead at Alex, and the next few seconds were the worst fear he’d felt since his Ordeal of Knighthood.  Alex faded, helpless, and felt himself rematerialize in his own quarters, still mostly naked.  With great effort, he refrained from being sick.

* * *

“Whatever you’re doing to him, it’s working,” Alex told Roger the next day.

Roger gave a small, satisfied smile, but did not otherwise acknowledge Alex’s words.

Alex wondered why he didn’t feel more excitement.  He’d never had time for emotions like pity; Jon and Thom were just players to overcome to win the game.

He still wished that Thom didn’t look so bloody much like Alan, though.

* * *

When the showdown came, Alex felt more relief than excitement.  The tension over the past few weeks had been unbearable.  Thom had avoided him since his sister’s return, and Alex had already marked him in his head as dead.  Roger only needed to make his move.

Alex felt alive again for the first time in years, his sword dancing through the flesh of those who would stand against the Duke.  He had been so _bored_ ; no one was a real challenge to his skill.

The Lioness would be a real challenge.  Alex’s blood quickened as he stalked her.  He would have to kill her, and that was a shame – but the fight would be worth it.

The fight was worth it.

She had changed.  She was better than he could have imagined; it had only been a few years since they last faced each other, but Alanna had improved in leaps and bounds.  Almost, he was concerned he would not come out on top.

Almost.

He felt regret almost as thick as his joy when he held her at his mercy.  He knew he couldn’t spare her, knew Roger needed her out of the way.  But he was tempted, so tempted, to return her her sword so that the battle need never end.

He stumbled back, uncomprehending, from the first blow.  Alan held the laws of chivalry paramount; what was he doing using unarmed combat?  Alex regained his feet just in time to be knocked off them again by the second blow.  Immediately, he knew it was all over.

The third was a killing strike, and Alex didn’t even try to ward it off.  It was a shame Roger would kill her, for she was the best of their generation.  He tried to form words to warn her, but the blackness of death clouded his vision and his speech.  He reached blindly for his old friend.

Strong arms lay him out on the floor, cradling his head as if there was any reason left to protect him from pain.

In the last few seconds before the Black God came to take him, Alex felt Alan’s lips against his.  He thought of better days, before he became a traitor, when he used to best Alan in the practice yard and steal a kiss each time.  He remembered Alan’s laughing eyes and stubborn chin, and the way they’d circled each other like dancing, moving in tandem so closely it was hard to remember that he’d never bedded the boy.

Alexander of Tirragen died with a smile on his lips.

 


End file.
